


Lay Your Weary Head

by fancastic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Slow Build, canon divergence - season 10, cas is sick, dean and cas are cuties, falling!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:31:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3088121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancastic/pseuds/fancastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel scoffs. "I'll be fine," he insists, and he tries, he really does, to turn and vanish, but there's this <em> look </em> in Dean's eyes, this combination of fear and hurt, that keeps him from doing so. A few tense moments pass, and Castiel sighs. "I suppose a little while longer won't hurt," he says grudgingly. </p><p>—</p><p>Castiel stays with the Winchesters when his stolen Grace begins to fail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title inspired from Kansas' song "Carry On Wayward Son"

Castiel always has noise in his head.

He hears the thoughts and the prayers of seven billion humans, loud and fretful and constant. He hears the high pitched ringing of his brethren, their voices overpowering and mostly irritating, yet not powerful enough to drown out God's creations.

There are a grand total of two voices that he cares about (he cares about all voices, but these two are actually relevant to his life).

So when one of the voices suddenly stops, he panics, tuning into the other voice. Its quiet, as if processing, and then its loud and terrified, calling for him. He traces the voice to its owner and flees to the scene.

A large man, larger than Castiel in his vessel. His long hair is tangled and blood smears his face, but the terror shining in his bright eyes is directed towards the owner of the second important voice.

"Cas, it — I don't know, it was too fast —" Sam. He speaks in a voice that is strange and still, the voice of someone in shock. "It was a stupid werewolf and it, it just found an open spot and went for it," Sam is saying, and he shifts and Castiel can see the body of Dean.

His throat tightens and he steps forward, kneeling down to inspect the injuries. Ling gashes run along the length of the man's torso, his shirt reduced to shreds. The cuts are deep and relentless in their spilling of blood. A smaller but nevertheless worrisome gash crosses his pale forehead.

He tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth. He can feel his Grace inside of him, churning and restless. Though he has refreshed his Grace (not his decision; Crowley practically crammed it into his throat) it came from a weakened angel. He doubts he won't heal him well enough.

"Can you do it?" Sam asks, breaking him from his thoughts. Castiel takes a deep breath and holds his hand out, hesitating before brushing it against the unconcious man's body and concentrating on closing the wounds.

The Grace within him pulls, resisting his command, and he works harder. An itch begins crawling under his skin, but he ignores it, eyes following the movement of the scars as the skin reconnects. The itch turns to a sharp pain, and he breaks off for a moment, breathing uneven.

"Are you okay?" Sam rests a large hand on Castiel's shoulder. "I can try and stitch the rest if you can't." Castiel shakes him off with determination. "I can do this," he says firmly. Dean's breathing is deep and steady now, his skin nearly smooth. Just a few seconds more should work.

Again, Castiel lays his palm onto Dean's chest and wills the foreign Grace forward. The pain slams into him immediately and he lets out a shuddering breath, hand sliding off of his friend. He falls onto his side, panting, face screwed up with pain. He feels the Grace flying through him, vibrating in his bones as it struggles to remove itself from the stranger's body.

"Cas? What the hell?" 

Dean's voice. Relief tampers with his pain and he tries to focus on Dean, who looks much better. "Hey, man, stay with me." Gentle but firm hands are hauling him to his knees by the lapels of his trench. Castiel blinks slowly, the pain slowly fading. His vision clears slightly and he finds himself extremely close to Dean's face. His freckles are prominent today.

He opens his mouth to speak and feels something dribble down his chin. Dean's eyes flicker down and he frowns, using his thumb to wipe it away. "Shit. Sam, he's bleeding inside," Dean says, turning his attention briefly to his brother.

Swiveling his head back to Castiel, Dean says sternly, "You're coming back to the bunker to rest up for a few days."

Castiel parts his lips again. "I have... Cain is in hiding," he protests, eyes pointedly flickering down to Dean's forearm. Instinctively Dean shifts to try and cover it before scowling. "This can wait. C'mon."

Castiel sighs, which proves to be a bad idea because he rattles out a few coughs that make Sam cringe. They pull him to his feet and help him stumble from the empty, decaying cabin to the Impala.

They reach the car and Castiel fumbles with the backseat handle while Sam and Dean exchange glances. "I can drive," Sam offers, and Castiel looks over in time to see Dean's shoulder slump with relief. "Just be careful," he warns, dropping the keys into Sam's open palm. This earns him an eyeroll as Sam turns to walk around the car.

Dean twists to face Castiel and he frowns. "Get in the car," he says, tugging the door open and quirking a brow. Castiel suppresses a sigh and collapses into the back seat, pulling himself into a sitting position. He hears a cough and glances over to see Dean's patient expression.

"Move over," he says. "I'm not letting you sit back here alone." Castiel hesitates, making eye contact with Sam in the mirror, and Sam mouths, _Do as he says._

Castiel nods nearly imperceptibly and drags himself to the other side so Dean can lower himself in and shut the door. Sam starts the car and begins to make his way through the overgrown trails, back to the highway. Castiel feels his eyes drooping and his head bounces as he forces himself to stay awake.

He is aware of Dean staring holes into the side of his head and he struggles to keep his eyes open, but the Grace within him has finally gone dormant in its rage and rendered him exhausted. 

Dean sighs and the leather shifts beneath him; Castiel tilts his head and sees Dean sliding closer, patting his shoulder. "Lean your head against it," he murmurs quietly. "Its more comfortable than the window."

Grateful, Castiel shifts and rubs his head against Dean's shoulder until it's in a comfortable position, pulling his trenchcoat tightly around him as he begins to shiver with cold.

They ride in silence, lights flashing by as they pass cities and other vehicles. Castiel tunes into the soothing sound of Dean's steady breathing. He's alive, Castiel thinks, and the temporary pain is worth it. 

He ends up falling asleep, feeling the solid warmth of Dean beside him and listening to his rhythmic breathing.

✡

Castiel feels himself being shaken gently. Blinking his tired eyes open, he lifts his head and surveys his surroundings wearily until his brain supplies him with recent events. His jaws unhinge to release a long yawn.

"Hey," Dean murmurs softly. "We're at the bunker. You just gotta get to the couch and you can konk right back out." Castiel's body is sour and he feels as if he were to vomit (which is impossible for a celestial being, but the former human in him knows the feeling). 

He buries himself back against Dean and mumbles, "I'm tired."

Dean huffs out a small laugh. "C'mon, you lazy pile of bones," he teases, carefully pushing Castiel up. Castiel whines in protest but relents, stretching and giving a puffy-eyed glare at Dean before shoving the door open.

Dean tries to slowly guide Castiel inside, but when tired, Castiel is impatient, so he determinedly hurries as quickly as he can down the steps and to the door. Dean gives up on trying to pull him back; despite his weakened state, Castiel is still an angel, and therefore much stronger than Dean.

Sam is walking into the library when they're at the bottom of the staircase. He gestures vaguely at the direction of the living room. "I have pillows and blankets set up on the couch," he announces. Then he frowns. "Unless you want a bed."

Castiel shakes his head and stumbles from the movement, but Dean lashes out and tightly grips Castiel's arm to steady him. "Th' couch's closer," he points out. "Thanks."

Sam nods and gives a small, reassuring smile. "Do you need help?" he asks, and Castiel is about to answer when Dean cuts in, "Nah, I got 'im, Sammy."

Sam hesitates, eyes scanning over them. Then he nods and turns around. "I'm gonna patch up the cut on my arm and go to bed. Night guys." 

Dean watches him go before gently nudging Castiel. "Here, Sleepyhead, lets get you layin' down."

Castiel is dragging his feet at this point, exhaustion aching in every fibre of his being. His eyes are drooping as he's walking and he nearly falls over, but Dean hoists him up and encourages him closer.

After what feels like an eternity (which, coming from Castiel, is saying something) they finally make it to the couch. Dean moves to help carefully lower him down, but Castiel flops against the cushions with a puff of relief.

Dean sighs but says nothing, sitting on the edge of the couch and untying Castiel's shoes. He promptly drops them on the floor, then stands and grabs the pillows Sam left out and pushes them beneath Castiel's head. Castiel pulls the blanket over him and sinks down, body loosening.

Dean is still standing there, as if uncertain now about what to do. "Thank you," Castiel breathes, eyes fixing on Dean's face. Limited light conceals it in shadows, and it almost gives the illusion that he's younger, less burdened. Dean looks genuinely surprised for a moment. "If you hadn't mojo'd me up, you'd be the almighty ass you usually are."

Castiel tenses until he recognizes the teasing undertones in Dean's voice. "'F I hadn't, you'd be bleeding out," Castiel counters, arching a brow challengingly. Dean shrugs. "Not a good situation either way," he concedes. There's a small pause, then Dean awkwardly coughs. "Thank you for doin' that."

Castiel's lips twitch. "There's no need for that," he tsks. "I would do it right now if the situation rose again." Dean shakes his head. 

"Absolutely not," he rejects.  
"Absolutely," Castiel insists.  
"Over my dead body."  
"That defeats the purpose, Dean."

Dean lets out a startled laugh, and it makes something inside Castiel warm. "Whatever, smartass," Dean says, smile still haunting his lips. "I like you better when you're sleeping."

Castiel feels a twinge of hurt, and it must show because Dean sighs, "Its just a joke, dude."

Castiel, relieved and somewhat embarrassed, offers a small smile. "G-G-Goodnight," he yawns. Dean claps his shoulder, offering his own _good night_ before shutting off the light and retreating to his own room.

Castiel falls asleep with the ghost of a smile playing upon his lips.

✡

Castiel wakes questioning what the current century is.

Light filters from other rooms in the bunker and he smells burgers. If he tries hard enough, he can hear Dean humming _Hey, Jude_ in the kitchen and Sam typing away in the library.

Same century, then.

He pushes himself into a sitting position and stretches his tired limbs. He's still bone tired, but he doesn't want to sleep on this Godforsaken couch any longer, so he unsteadily makes his way to the library.

Sam's head shoots up when he walks in, relief lighting his face. "He lives," Sam calls, and Castiel hears a pause in the quiet humming. "Tell Mr Comatose that I'm makin' dinner!" Dean yells back.

Sam faces Castiel. "Dean wants you to know he's making dinner and that if you want something, you should probably go place your order." Castiel rolls his eyes. How did he end up with such odd humans as his best friends? "Thank you for translating," Castiel says with mock politeness.

Sam groans. "Having Dean is one thing, but you too?" he complains. "You guys are going to kill me."

Castiel frowns. "Neither of us would kill you, no matter the situ —" "Its a phrase," Sam interrupts. Castiel cuts off and files that away, along with the fact that he's much more polite about informing Castiel of these things than Dean is.

He walks into the kitchen and sniffs the air appreciatively. Jimmy had been a big fan of burgers, and in his humanoid moments Castiel, too, had found them addictive. The smell reawakes a small part of him and he lets out a small moan of pleasure. 

"Heya, Cas," Dean greets, tongue poking between his lips as he carefully adds condiments to one of the two burgers sitting out. "I only made two, but it wouldn't take too long to whip up another one." 

Castiel longs to say yes, but the effort and time would be wasted; his ability to taste is limited to the bland taste of molecules. "Its fine, thank you," Castiel promises. He pauses. "Sorry for falling asleep on you yesterday."

Dean pauses and lifts his gaze to Castiel. "Yesterday?" he repeats, and Castiel nods in affirmation. "On the carride here," he adds, hoping to refresh the hunter's memory. Comprehension dawns on his face and Dean lets out a short laugh. "You're a bit of there, man," he says. "That was four days ago, not one."

Castiel is so surprised for a moment that he can't process any response. _Four days?!_ He was so close to catching Cain, and now he'll have to begin sniffing a cold trail in hopes of finding a new lead. "I can't afford to waste any more time," Castiel decides, and he prepares to teleport.

"Woah, woah, woah, _woah,_ hold up," Dean says, sounding anxious. Castiel pauses and impatiently raises a brow at Dean. "You're not going anywhere," Dean says, and he sounds as if this is a satisfying enough sentence to keep Castiel rooted to the spot.

"But Cain —" "Can wait," Dean cuts in, sounding somewhat irked. "You're in no condition to haul ass right now, 'cause, no offense, but you look like shit."

Castiel scoffs. "I'll be fine," he insists, and he tries, he really does, to turn and vanish, but there's this _look_ in Dean's eyes, this combination of fear and hurt, that keeps him from doing so. A few tense moments pass, and Castiel sighs. "I suppose a little while longer won't hurt," he says grudgingly.

The smile that lights Dean's face wipes away any thoughts of sneaking out, and Castiel can't help but smile back.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel spends the evening sitting in the library, listening to the casual conversing of the brothers and the occasional bickering. He catches himself nodding off several times and he always jerks slightly as he snaps back to full conciousness, earning him narrowed eyes from Dean and quirked brows from Sam.

"You can go back to sleep, y'know," Sam points out after the fourth or fifth time. Castiel shakes his head stubbornly, refusing to give in so easily. "I'm not tired," he lies, and the brothers exchange amused glances. 

"Remember that conversation about you being a terrible liar?" Sam inquires, amusement bright in his eyes. Castiel scowls. "Remember when I reminded you of the times I successfully lied to you two?" Castiel snaps.

Dean looks somewhat puzzled, as he wasn't part of the conversation as it had taken place, but this retort causes Sam to shake his head good-naturedly. "Dude, the point is that this is one of those times that you're being a terrible liar."

Castiel frowns. "I'm not lying," he says, which is ironic, 'cause that itself was a lie. Sam blinks at him, as if he can see right through Castiel, and then mutters, "Whatever you say."

An awkward silence ensues, and Castiel shifts uncomfortably. Finally, its broken by Dean. "Cas, have you seen _Game of Thrones_ before?" Castiel frowns, sifting through his extensive memory. Metatron had downloaded everything he knew into Castiel's head, but Game of Thrones wasn't something he seemed to recall.

"No?" He sounds uncertain. Dean stares at him with an air of impatience. "You sure?" he checks, and Castiel detects sarcasm. "I... yes," he answers, trying to sound as firm as possible without his voice cracking from exhaustion.

"Well, you're in for a treat," Dean promises, face breaking into excitement. "I have the whole first season and a whole lotta time to waste. Come on." He turns and begins moving towards the hallway. Castiel looks at Sam nervously, and receives a shrug in answer.

He jumps at a "You comin' or not?" and scrambles out of his chair to stumble after. Dean waits for him to catch up, and they walk side-by-side through the narrow halls, shoulders brushing. As the move, Dean begins to go over any basica that need explaining before they watch so that Cas won't "interrupt one of the greatest shows in existence to ask some dumb question."

Dean walks into his room and walks to his desk, opening his laptop and sighing in relief when nothing inappropriate pops up. Castiel stands somewhat awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

Dean pats the bed next to him as he sits and begins typing on the laptop. Castiel hesitates before walking over to the bed and sitting stiffly on the edge. Dean casts him an odd look and snorts. "You can't see the screen from over there," he points out.

Castiel scowls and moves so that his shoulders are brushing against Dean's. There's a small silence as Dean pulls up the menu screen. "Shit," he mutters. "Just a sec, I gotta shut the door."

Castiel doesn't mean to; a burning itch crawls beneath his skin as the door swings shut. Dean glares at him, disapproving, but the only thing he says is, "Its gonna be a long marathon. Try to stay awake" before pressing play.

✡

Castiel wakes up with his head leaning against Dean's shoulder. Dean is still watching the show, as if nothing has happened, except that a blanket is draped around Castiel.

✡

Sam and Dean leave the next day for a simple hunt all the way in Lincoln Nebraska. Dean is wary that Castiel will try to escape without them there, but with some coaxing from Sam, he finally agrees to go.

Castiel sleeps the entire three days that they're gone, only waking when he hears the purr of the Impala and the sound of the bunker door opening. He shuffles to the library to greet them but pauses when he sees Sam's arm in a sling.

"You're hurt," he notes, stepping forward automatically. Sam freezes, eyes narrowing at the action and Dean stepping between them. "You are keeping your hands to yourself, capisce?" His voice is firm, nearly aggresive, the way he sounds in the midst of a fight.

Castiel's eyes rest on the sling helplessly. "Whats wrong with it?" he asks quietly. If its a break, he might not be able to go through with it, but he's feeling better after a week of rest, so if its —

"A sprain," Sam supplies. Castiel feels a twinge of relief; he hates seeing the Winchesters hurt, especially if he can fix it. "That can be fixed easily," Castiel says in his most assuring voice. He moves forward, but Dean's hand comes up to his chest and pushes against his movement. "No," he growls.

Castiel grabs his arm and forces it down, his usual default glare settling on his face. "I can _fix_ it in a second," he says, frustration seeping through him. "I'm not going to stand by when I'm capable of healing him."

"I'm not gonna stand by so you can nearly kill yourself trying to fix something that heals quickly enough on its own," Dean counters, anger flashing in his eyes. They glare at each other until Sam cuts in gently, "Its really not that much of a problem, Cas. We aren't going on hunts anytime soon."

Castiel tears his eyes from Dean's to give Sam a long, searching look. Then he releases Dean's arm and sniffs disdainfully. "As you wish," he says curtly, whipping around and stalking back to the living room. He ignores Sam's voice and buries himself under blankets.

Sam tries talking to him, and Castiel contemplates lashing out to grab him and heal him, but he forces himself still and pretends to be asleep. He isn't tired, not when anger is pumping through his veins and frustration is clouding his mind. He fumes on the couch for the rest of the afternoon, and doesn't even open his eyes until he hears Sam's bedroom door shut quietly.

He decides to walk around the bunker, just to have something to do, but his plans are crushed when he hears Dean's voice. "Cas, can I — can we talk?"

Castiel almost spits out _no_ out of childish rage, but he reminds himself who he is speaking with. "Of course, Dean," he answers, trying to keep any bitterness from his voice. The light flicks on and Castiel flinches at the sudden intrusion.

Dean comes in and hesitates before sitting next to Castiel, keeping a safe distance between them. "I know its hard being penned up with nothing to do," he begins, and Castiel knows he means it; his mind reminds him of the time he tried fleeing to give himself to Michael.

"But... Cas, I-you don't know what it was like, to wake up when I seriously didn't expect it and then find out you nearly died saving me. I..." he pauses, his fists clenching and unclenching. "I felt helpless, and I didn't want to experience that again."

Castiel is silent, processing this. He remembers the gut-wrenching terror he felt when he was told by the murderer that Dean was dead, and by his broter that he was undead. He supposes the feelings are similar, the helplessness and the burn to do something to try to stop it.

"I know," Castiel finally says. "I overreacted, as well. I just... I hate sitting around with nothing to do but sleep and walk around the bunker for things to do, when I could be helping you hunt or finding Cain."

Dean, who had been staring at the far wall, snaps his head towards Castiel. "Why do you keep bringing up Cain?" he asks suspiciously. Castiel dawdles a moment, trying to word this carefully. He grabs Dean's arm gently and rolls up the sleeve, revealing the ugly red scar that is poisoning the hunter.

Dean tenses beneath him, breath hitching. "Dean, Metatron won't be giving my Grace back," he says with absolute certainty. He doubts it is still existent; Metatron is simply trying to break free. "I won't keep stealing Grace," he adds. "I'm dying, plain and simple, but before I do, I want to make sure that you are free of this burden." He traces his fingers over the Mark.

He glances up and sees Dean staring holes through him, an intense fire burning in his eyes. Castiel is afraid he's said something wrong, and he draws his hands back as if he's been burned. He's about to apologize when Dean says quietly, "I don't want you to die, Cas."

Castiel's mind blanks for a moment, completely unprepared for the statement. He gathers himself after a moment, mind supplies different answers. "You went a long time without me, Dean, before _and_ after you met me."

There is irony in this statement; he went billions of years without Dean, but when Metatron appeared with a dagger coated in his blood, Castiel felt himself crack. The statement apparently displeases Dean, because his face hardens. "All the reason more to save you," he decides. "I've seen too many people that I care about die, and I intend to do something to stop it from happening again."

Castiel feels something warm wash through him. Dean lets out a small laugh. "Look at us, arguing over whose gonna save who," he mutters. "We're ridiculous."

Castiel smiles, because Dean smiles, and its such a rare occurance that he always tries to make it last as long as possible. "Thats what friends are for, right?" he checks, knowing the answer. Dean nods and pats Castiel's shoulders. "Yeah, Cas," he agrees.

He drops his hand, but where it rested tingles from the touch. Dean stands up and sighs. "We'll work it out," he promises. "When we're both fixed up, we'll go to a shit bar and get drunk off of shit beer."

Its the best plan Castiel's ever heard.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel doesn't sleep that night, so he mindlessly wanders the bunker and explores the rooms. It occupies him, snagging his interest, so when he hears Sam and Dean yelling for him, he's reluctant to leave.

He finds them, dressed and ready, in the library. Puzzled, he tilts his head and asks, "May I ask what the occasion is?" 

"We know it sucks being locked up," Sam says, and all three of them briefly remember periods where they were kept in confinements. "We decided to go out, and drag you along with us."

The thought of fresh air makes something stir within him, and Castiel feels a flash of anticipation. "Where to?" he inquires eagerly. They could stare at the outside of a building for the whole day and Castiel would be content. "Well, Sam and I haven't eaten yet, so we wanted to go to a diner, but if you want to —" "That sounds wonderful," Castiel interjects enthusiastically.

So they all pile into the Impala, Castiel's mood briefly darkening as Sam struggles with the seatbelt. Dean turns his music loud, patting Sam's shoulder to urge him into singing along. Castiel finds it oddly therapeutic, this usual, normal thing happening to unusual, extraordinary people. He leans back in the seat and watches them for the rest of the drive, even when they do nothing.

They pull into a small, homey looking café on Main Street. Castiel can smell all of the food processing inside, a blend that makes his mouth water and longing twinge in his stomach. He misses burgers. 

He doesn't realize he's zoned out until he hears a knock and the window and jumps hard enough to hit his head. He gets out of the car, scowling, and him and Sam follow Dean's laughter into the café.

The smell intensifies, causing a small, nearly inaudible whine to sound in his throat. Dean seems not to hear it, but Sam gives him a worried look. "Are you okay?" he asks, leaning closer to murmur in his ear. Castiel nods. "I just wish I could still taste burgers the way you do." He wrinkles his nose. "Now they taste like a heap of molecules."

Sam laughs, which startles Dean into turning around. He narrows his eyes as he looks over Castiel, and Sam, who is still standing close, head still lowered. He opens his mouth but is cut off as a waitress greets them, asking a preference on a booth or table. Dean snaps, "Booth" a tad too harsh, causing the hostess to flinch slightly.

She nods, blinking, and leads them to a booth near the back, in a secluded spot. Castiel hangs back slightly, waiting to see which side the brothers sit on. Sam slides into a side, accepting the menu with a smile apologetic for Dean's sake. Castiel steps forward to sit on the other side, but Dean cuts him off by sitting in the seat that _he_ was supposed to sit on.

Castiel frowns, looking at Dean with hopes of an explanation, but he snatches the menu away from the waitress and begins glowering at it. He glances at Castiel, who hovers by the table, unneccessary menu being brandished at him by the woman. "Are you gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna sit?"

Castiel awkwardly sits next to Dean, remaining close to the edge of the seat in case Dean decides to shove a fork into his thigh. "C-can I get y'all something to drink?" she asks, sounding unsettled. "D'you got beer?" Dean asks. She nods, then clears her throat when Dean doesn't look up to catch the motion. "Yes, sir," she answers, readying her pen.

"I'll have one of those," he decides. Sam orders a water, and Castiel hesitates before doing the same. She scurries away with the promise of returning shortly. As soon as she's out of ear-shot, Sam's kind demeanor deflates and he glares at Dean. "What the hell?" he demands.

Dean looks up, appearing almost bored. Castiel hates when Dean is like this; it means he's about to, is doing, or has done something reckless or is feeling restless. Dean shrugs. "I don't know, what about it?" he asks frostily. He's wearing a half-sleeve shirt today, the fabric stop just under his elbow, leaving the Mark visible. Castiel feels something twist in his stomach and he exchanges a worried glance with Sam.

"Forget it," Sam mutters. Dean glares at is brother a moment longer before looking at his menu. Castiel opens his menu and looks over everything, the longing stretching in him like a chasm. The sense of taste is a wonderful gift. He sighs longingly as his eyes rest on a picture of a decidedly unhealthy-to-the-extreme burger, cheese and pickles and bacon and who-knows-what-else flowing from between toasted buns.

"—Beer for you."

Castiel jerks his head up, tense and alert, but relaxes when he sees the waitress has returned, setting down everyone's drinks. She gives herself a small nod, and then she asks, "Are y'all set to order?"

"I'm not hungry, thank you," Castiel says politely. She tilts her head, frowning slightly but saying nothing. "If you're sure, then let me know if you change your mind," she urges. Castiel smiles and nods to show that he understands. She looks at Dean, who is busy taste-testing his beer. Sam clears his throat and prods, "Dean?"

Something happens. Castiel isn't sure what, but when he looks back at the waitress, her face seems almost colder, emptier, for the span of half a second. He knows staring can feel uncomfortable, but he does anyway, burning gaze studying her as she takes the orders and the menus.

She smiles and announces that their food will be out soon. When she walks past, however, Castiel sees the smile drop and her face do that strange, blank-out thing. He turns to watch her until she vanishes behind employee doors. Unnerved, he turns back around to find Sam and Dean staring at him.

"Jeez, Cas," Dean says, his words teasing but his voice hard, "you should really tone down the staring if you wanna get laid." Castiel scowls and shakes his head. "No, I don't..." he sighs. "It's nothing." Its not, and they both can tell. Avoiding their eyes, he focuses his curiosity on the glass in front of him.

Water had been a necessity as a human, a constant, nagging, time-consuming necessity. He picks up the cup and presses his fingertips to the plastic, the cold from the ice seeping through to chill the container. He concentrates on the memory of the taste of water before pressing his lips to the plastic and tilting it back so that water can flood his mouth.

He sets the cup down and lets the mouthful sit, filling his cheeks. He swallows slowly and licks his lips to get the moisture off before shaking his head. It tasted so... molecular. Lifting his gaze, he notices that the Winchesters are still staring at him. He notes that Dean's cheeks are tinged pink, eyes fixed somewhere lower than Castiel's own. He glances up and looks away, somewhat embarrassed.

"Uh, so Cas," Sam says, breaking the awkward silence. "What... what did you just do?" 

Castiel thrums his fingers on the table, a gesture he'd picked up as a human. "I wanted to know how water tasted. Its different..." he shakes his head. "What does water taste like to you, Sam?"

Sam frowns, giving long thought to the question. "I can't really describe it," he says somewhat frustratedly. "Its just water, I guess. Hydrogen and oxygen." He pauses, then counters, "What does it taste like to you?"

"Hydrogen and oxygen," he answers honestly. "I can taste every individual atom. Its unsatisfactory." He pushes the cup away slightly, making a face at it. Castiel wishes for the umpteenth time that he could still taste. He shifts so that he can face Dean. "If you had to lose your sense of taste for the thing that you wanted most, would you accept the thing?"

Dean takes a long pull from his beer before answering. "Dunno, man. I mean, I don't really know the thing I want the _most,_ and I don't really know how I'd survive without the taste of pie. Depends on whats at stake." He cocks his head. "That got philisophical. You should look into becoming a therapist."

Sam twitches slightly, and a foot slams into Castiel's shin; he jumps as if he's been burned, which causing Dean to startle and Sam to curse. "Sorry, Cas," Sam mumbles. Castiel's Grace is still struggling to heal him, so it does kinda hurt, but he doesn't mind. "No need to apologize," he assures, "it was an accident."

They're spared further conversation when the waitress finally returns, bearing the two meals. She sets down Sam's salad first, then reaches to set Dean's down. As it passes, Castiel gets a good whiff of it, and it smells delicious, but something is wrong. Dean goes to pick it up, making an appreciative noise, but Castiel smacks his hand.

"Wha —" "Don't touch your food," Castiel orders, and his voice must have a certain hardness, a certain coldness that makes both Winchester push their plates away. Castiel turns to glare at the waitress, who frowns. "Is something wrong, sir?"

Castiel knows. He saw it in her expression, but without his Grace at full power, he hadn't been able to really _see_ her face. He still wants to be certain before he attacks and causes a scene. He brushes the hand Dean has placed on his shoulder away and braces himself, then wills the tiniest bit of Grace to let him look at her through true eyes, but he can't see her soul well enough without more Grace.

He looks into her bright blue eyes and growls, "Christo."

A deep hiss escapes her mouth as her eyes flash black. 

Castiel is on his feet, quick as thought, palm outstretched. He feels energy thrumming through him, feels it glowing in his fingertips. He is centimeters away from liquifying her skull and its contents when he hears Dean snarl, "Cas, no!"

Castiel has her cornered, power vibrating through him, anger pushing him onwards. He just has to stretch an infinitesimal amount of space closer, and —

"You'll kill yourself!"

Castiel glares at the demon, who raises a brow at Dean's words. "Cas?" she repeats slowly. "As in _Castiel?_ " She laughs, a cold, empty sound that resonates within his skull. "You can barely heal a papercut. I could probably butcher you and sell you to Buffalo Wild Wings." 

Castiel growls, but before he can react she flicks her hand and he stumbles back, too strong to be flung across the room but too weak to hold his ground. He hears footsteps and then a grunt, and he regains his balance in time to see Sam flying towards him before he feels a massive ball of muscle bowl him over.

They struggle to untangle themselves; a crippled giant and a falling angel. Sam is slow, sore and dazed, but Castiel springs to his feet, fixing his gaze on Dean as he charges the demon, knife brandished. She stamps her foot, and he falls down, a few feet away from her heels and his knife skittering from his fist.

As she kneels, she holds her hand out and the blade flies to it. Castiel reacts with speed impossible to humans; he dives, slamming into her as she raises the blade. A yelp falls from her mouth as they land, but as soon as she makes contact with the ground, she lashes out, dragging the knife across Castiel's right cheek.

He hisses, momentarily blinded from the pain, before fury washes over him. He grips her shoulders and jolts her, hard, knocking her skull into the ground hard enough to daze her. He yanks the knife from her fingers and drives it into her chest, waiting until the telltale amber glow dies before tugging the blade free.

Panting, he pushes himself to his feet and uses his trenchcoat sleeve to wipe away the blood streaming from the cut on his cheek. He glares at Sam and Dean, who are on their feet. He holds the knife out, waiting, until Dean finally holds his hand out for Castiel to drop it into. "Let's go," he growls, throwing a distaseful look at the food. "You can get food elsewhere."

He ignores the dozens of pairs of eyes following him to the door.

✡

Castiel glowers in the backseat on the ride home. He _hates_ being so helpless. A demon? Sure, it had unbalanced Sam and Dean, but they're still humans. Castiel should have been able to smite her with a thought, but this horrible, _wrong_ Grace isn't enough.

He isn't enough.

The cut on his cheek still flows blood freely, and though it stings and stains his clothes and neck, he doesn't try to halt the bleeding. He isn't concerned with the possibility of bleeding out, at least not yet.

The lack of treatment makes Dean anxious, however. He looks at Castiel repeatedly in the mirror, studying the cut that extends from his right ear to just a half inch from his nose. "You should at least cover it," he insists. Castiel responds by turning his head and avoiding Dean's eyes for the rest of the ride.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel only agrees because he's tired of Dean's nagging.

So he sits himself on the edge of the bathtub while Dean gets out the necessary supplies. Dean is thinking loudly, disturbing the air molecules surrounding him. Castiel waits, feigning interest in the smooth skin of his bare chest (his clothes were too bloody).

Dean kneels in front of him, setting his supplies on a clean towel. "This'll be cold," he warns quietly, dabbing a peroxide-soaked cloth across the gash to clean the skin and cleanse any growing infections. As he works, he leans in, his warm breath fanning across Castiel's cheek and neck.

"We're outta practice," Dean says. Castiel snorts; he isn't out practice, just almost out of life. "Sam said to not help unless you were gettin' the shit beaten outta ya." Dean begins preparing the needle and floss. "I didn't understand at first, but I do now." He assesses the length of the floss before biting it. "I do now."

Castiel listens to the deep, rough voice and lets it lull him, relax him before the owner begins to sew Castiel's skin. "You were ready to mojo her ass to Purgatory without second thoughts. You were ready to send yourself. Figured you had steam to blow." Dean is deft, steady in stitching. Its deep, but not worrisome; just irritating.

"I could have survived."  
"You could have died."

Castiel goes quiet again after the needle misaims and brushes the tender skin harder than necessary. Dean has two thirds done when he pauses. "Cas, how much Grace do you have left?"

"Enough," he answers tiredly. He can't see Dean's face, but he can picture the scowl. "I'm serious." Castiel sighs and shrugs. "I'm not certain. I'm always tired and I can't heal myself or anyone else, apparently."

Dean is silent and still for a moment before continuing his medical work. Castiel can hear him thinking again, in the way he stitches a tad harder and sighs in low, clipped breaths. Finally, he murmurs, "I wish you were human again."

Castiel tenses automatically and Dean falters, mind catching up to his mouth. "No, I... thats not what I meant," he stammers, regret tinging his voice. Castiel refrains from frowning to avoid tugging the stitches. "Then what did you mean?" he asks.

Dean finishes, breaking the floos and gently ghosting his fingers over his work, checking for any that are loose. When he finishes he grabs Castiel's other cheek to force their eyes to meet. "I meant that I wish you would be with us more and be less tired." He pauses. "I wish you could taste burgers again."

Castiel gives Dean a long, searching look, reminiscent of one he would give long ago. He mulls over what Dean is trying to say. "Thats very kind of you," he finally says. Relief masks Dean's face and he gives a lopsided smile. "Don't get used to it," he warns, patting Castiel's thivh before standing to his full height. "I can't be going soft in my age."

Castiel's leg burns from where Dean's hand had briefly rested, and he takes a moment to try corraling these sensations before standing and grabbing his bloodstained shirt. Dean, whose standing in the doorway, pauses before shaking his head. "You can't wear that," he points out, prying the cloth from his fingers.

Castiel frowns. "I can't be bare-chested all the time," he counters, feeling extremely concious of his exposed torso. Dean's eyes flit down and linger for a second too long before dragging back to Castiel's inquisitive stare. 

"I have some old shirts," he says, "you can borrow." Castiel's exposed chest seems to enjoy this, because he feels as if it contracts with the thought of one of Dean's shirts covering it. "I would like that, please," he decides.

Dean sets the bloody clothes down, promising he'll throw them in the laundry later before leaving the bathroom. He follows Dean to the his room and stands in the doorway, watching as Dean rummages through a drawer until he seems satisfied.

Turning, he beckons Castiel in and hands him the wadded shirt. "Its one of the only ones without some scorch mark or tear in it," he explains as Castiel unfolds it. "It probably will be a bit big, but what can ya do?" The front has the words _Metallica_ printed across the top.

Castiel carefully pulls it over his head, sighing in content as the cotton covers his body. "Thank you," he says earnestly. "I'll be careful not to stain it."

Dean's eyes are a shade darker, Castiel thinks as he meets the hunter's gaze, but he pins it down to the lighting. A yawn stretches his mouth and makes him wince as it tugs the stitches. "I think I'll take a nap," Castiel announces. Dean snaps out of whatever trance he's in.

"Yeah, thats a good idea," Dean agrees. "Sammy and I will be here if you need anything." 

Castiel is cautious to lay down so that his cheek is not hurting. He feels as if he grows more tired with every second, and he thinks that if he had his own Grace, or if he were human, he wouldn't feel this sick all the time.

Dying sucks.

✡

_Castiel looks around in confusion. He's laying in the middle of a forest, and for a moment he thinks that he's back in Purgatory; that he never left, except that it's eerily silent and he can see stars through the canopy of trees._

_Puzzled, he sits up and feels a terrible pain flow through him, cramping his muscles and pulling his tendons. Clenching his teeth, he forces himself to stand and nearly cries from the pain._

_Sam and Dean._

_Castiel needs to find the Winchesters._

_He takes in his surroundings and waits, waits for his brain to supply him with his location as always. But for some reason, it doesn't. He remains confused, unaware. Frowning, he forces himself to move to the edge of the trees, picking through bramble thickets and avoiding fallen logs._

_Then, he hears it._

_It starts as a small tinkling noise, faint and nearly inaudible. Castiel looks around for the source of the noise, but it greeted with nothing. The cold is beginning to reach him, and he shivers._

_Wait._

_The temperature shouldn't bother him, right? Why is he so_ cold?

_The noise intensifies, and Castiel scowls in frustration. He looks to the heavens to pray the noise away, and is greeted with the sight of falling stars._

_Except he has seen fallen stars, seen the way they expand until they can't possibly expand any more, and then shrink on themselves and explode, scattering across the galaxies. These are not falling stars._

_The noise is unbearably loud, and as the fake stars grow closer, Castiel begins to make out what they are, and his whole body goes rigid as dread pulses through him; the trails of fire blazing through the sky reveal the outline of massive wings, connecting to the center of the body from which they spread, and —_

_These are Castiel's_ brothers.

_Terror fires through him, painful and unrelenting. There are tens, no, hundreds falling, and the ringing is their true voices, and Castiel remembers, remembers Metatron and the three trials and his Grace pulling from his body as if someone were severing all of his appendages, and he begins to scream in fury and terror and frustration —_

"Cas!"

Castiel jerks, limbs tense, body trembling, chest heaving. He's staring at denim, surrounded in blankets and old, fading fabric. He lifts his gaze and finds himself staring into the face of Dean, whose eyes are round with worry.

"Cas, you were having a bad dream," he says, calm and soothing, understanding. Castiel shakes his head no, because though it was a dream, it was also a memory, a moment relived, and that terror still pounds in his chest.

Dean smooths his hands through Castiel's hair, slow and gentle. "Whatever it was, its over, Cas, and we're all safe right now. It's okay."

Castiel's throat feels raw, swollen and torn, and he realizes that he was screaming. "I'm sorry," he rasps, sitting up and shaking Dean's hand away. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

Dean rolls his eyes. "You can't help nightmares," he points out, but then he catches his bottom lip in his teeth and Castiel absolutely doesn't watch the movement. "I... Cas, are angels supposed to dream?"

Castiel sighs. "No," he admits tiredly. "There's alot of things we can't do that I'm doing." He rubs the back of his neck, a painfully _human_ gesture, and adds, "I don't think I'll be leaving anytime soon."

The words are light, but the underlying meaning is dark; Castiel is not going to get better. Dean runs a hand helplessly through his hair. "Okay," he says after a moment. "Okay. I guess that means you'll be wanting a real bed, not the couch?"

Castiel thinks that he might never sleep again, so he shakes his head. "No, thank you," he rejects. He pushes the blankets away and struggles to his feet, saved from immediatelt collapsing by Dean's strong arms. "Easy, tiger," he warns.

Castiel realizes that he's gripping Dean's arms hard enough to bruise and loosens his fingers. "Dean, I... Do you know any angels that could help us?" he asks. He hadn't wanted to, he wanted to save Dean, but if he does he needs to be alive. "Any at all?"

Dean frowns, giving Castiel a long, searching look. "Not really," he answers, "Why?" He's still staring at Castiel, brows scrunched in confusion. He finds it oddly endearing. "I can't do it anymore," Castiel whispers, then swallows and says more loudly, "I don't want to."

Dean's expression is blank; then it hardens. "There's no way in Hell I'm letting you try to off yourself," he growls. Castiel is rendered speehless for a moment, because _what?_ "If you think I'm going to sit and let you, I — Cas, I'm not allowing someone I care about to die, especially when I can stop it —"

"Dean —"

"Because everyone just _dies,_ they _die_ and they're _gone_ and I'm so sick of it —"

_"Dean —"_

"And I'm gonna do whatever it takes to keep you alive —"

Castiel presses his index finger against Dean's lips, promptly cutting him off. Dean goes cross-eyes to stare at the offending finger before lifting his gaze to the angel. "Can you please stop talking?" Castiel requests.

Dean looks somewhat indignant as he nods. Castiel pulls his finger away. "I don't want to go on a suicide mission," he promises, speaking slowly to make sure the meaning gets across. "I want..." he pauses, making his decision.

"I want to be human again."

Dean is silent for the span of three seconds. Then he asks, "Why the hell would you want that?"

Castiel is somewhat hurt. "I could live," he answers simply. "I could live and hunt and actually watch Game of Thrones. I could get my own clothes and still help take care of the Mark and spend more time with you." He pauses. "And Sam."

Dean is giving him that _look,_ the one he usually preserves for when he doesn't understand something; his lips twitching into a frown, eyes blank, expression hard. Then he grins and pulls Castiel into a tight hug.

Stunned, Castiel takes a moment before returning it, but his confusion lingers as Dean releases him. "I'm just really glad to hear that," Dean explains, and Castiel realizes he means that Castiel is choosing life, choosing the Winchesters.

"I'm really damn glad."


	5. Chapter 5

It turns out that none of the three are very friendly with angels.

Castiel knows that the brothers are trying, and for that he is grateful. However, as hours turn to days turn to a week, he's hardly awake and the brothers are doing their best to dance around him.

When they think he's sleeping, they speak in hushed voices. Castiel can hear them from any point in the bunker (he appreciates the little things). The words are often different, but the point of their quiet arguments always revolve around one topic.

_Castiel is running out of time._

It isn't until noon of the eighth day when Sam runs into the room, his eyes lit. "Crowley," he blurts, and he seems to be waiting for something to sink in, but neither Dean nor Castiel are quite getting it.

"Uh, Sam?" Castiel tries to sound as unsarcastic as possible. "Crowley is not an angel." Sam's shoulders droop slightly. "I've noticed," he says curtly. "What I _meant_ was that he can find something. I know he's not a good choice, but he's helped us before..."

He trails off at the increasingly awkward silence. Castiel runs through his mind the times that Crowley has been of use; getting the weapon to kill Dick Roman, helping in the defeat of Abaddon, even partnering with Castiel in his quest to become gone.

Crowley had been true to his word every single time. The problem, though, is that Crowley is not only a demon, but the King of Hell; he's the King of Lies. 

"How would he help us?" Dean asks, sounding somewhat harsh. " _Why_ would he help us?" 

Sam seems to deflate a little, the light in his eyes fading. "He has before," he mutters defensively. Castiel decides to intervene, so he swallows and asks, "What do you want to have him do?"

Dean throws him a bewildered look, as if he can't believe Castiel is taking interest in this. Sam hesitates, looking somewhat weary, but answers, "He has a whole kingdom." He pauses to present Dean a deluxe bitchface at the muttered "Obviously."

"He has people who know people. Hell, he probably knows a few angels that could help." He stops, apparently trying to word something delicately. "Its not like he hasn't worked with angels before."

Castiel flushes slightly at the words but allows a small smile to cross his face. "I think its worth a t-t-try," he decides, interrupted by a yawn. Sam grins, looking pleased with himself, while Dean sulks in his chair. 

"We should summon him," Sam says, half to himself. "I'll grab the supplies," he says more loudly. "I'll meet you in the dungeon." He flees the room in a flurry of plaid and long hair.

Castiel stands and grips the table tightly to steady himself as a wave of nausea washes through him. Gritting his teeth, he steps around his chair and begins to head to the direction of the library. A few seconds he hears the scrape of chair legs, accompanied by clunking footsteps.

"Are you sure we can trust him?" Dean checks. Castiel doesn't answer right away, distracted by the brushing of their shoulders. "There isn't much harm in trying, right?" Castiel says, trying to sound positive through the exhaustion cracking his voice.

Dean falters in his step, and Castiel stops to look back at him. He shrinks slightly at the anger in Dean's expression. _"There isn't much harm in trying?"_ he repeats. "If he crosses us, you're _dead!_ That sounds pretty damn harmful to me."

Castiel frowns slightly before saying quietly, "Its the only choice we have so far." Dean narrows his eyes, opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again, brushing past Castiel to hurry downstairs. "You comin' or not?"

Castiel scrambles to stumble after, nearly falling down the stairs in the process. He pauses at the bottom to pull in a few steadying breaths before walking towards the door to the dungeon. He stands next to Dean, taking in how tense he is, standing well away from the demon trap.

"I understand if you wish to not be down here," Castiel assures, but Dean shakes his head. "You and Sam are too naive, sometimes," he protests. "I n - I want to make sure this is done right."

He's spared from any more conversation by Sam, who lumbers in with full arms. He crouches down and drops everything onto the floor, beginning to sift through it and set up the summoning spell. Castiel slowly lowers himself and begins to help, following Sam's instructions.

Sam does the spell and drops the lit match, causing the flames to jump once before simmering down. He stands and grabs Castiel under the arm to help haul him to his feet. "Crowley, we need help, and we think you're the only one who can help us," Sam calls.

There's a long moment where nothing happens; everyone stands somewhat awkwardly, the flame flickers, the silence stretches. Then; "Hello, boys."

They all jump and turn to see Crowley, just an inch outside the devil's trap, an unimpressed look on his face. "Really, these childish games?" he asks, gesturing to the seal. Dean steps forward but Castiel holds out an arm to bar his path.

Crowley runs his gaze down Castiel's body before casually saying, "You're looking a bit peaky, mate." Whatever that means, it seems to be true, because Sam cuts in, "Thats why we summoned you. Cas' Grace is almost gone, and we were wond —" "You want me to take another angel's pixie dust so Castiel can be on the prowl for another three weeks," Crowley finishes.

"Er, no," Sam rejects, looking somewhat puzzled. Castiel yawns. "We want to take the Grace from him." 

For a moment, Crowley seems genuinely at a loss for words. 

"Take the Grace?" he repeats.  
"Uh, yep."  
"You know that'll make him human?"  
"Thats the point."

Crowley's gaze grows distant for a moment, he brow furrowed. Then he shakes himself slightly and looks between the three of them. "If I were to agree," he says, "What would I have to do?"

"We can take the Grace ourselves," Castiel says. "The problem is that we need someone to heal me afterwards. Do you think you can find an angel to help me?" 

Crowley is silent for three seconds before he snorts out a laugh. "You honestly think that an _angel_ would willingly help _me?"_ he splutters. "It may have escaped your notice, but I'm the bleeding _King of Hell!"_

Dean speaks for the first time, sounding irritated. "Do you think you can do it or not?" he snaps. Crowley gives him a condescending look. "I can do my best," he promises. "However, there's a condition." Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters, "Of course there is."

"What is it?" Sam asks, his expression similar to Dean's. Crowley shrugs, kicking a candle over absently. "I keep the leftover Grace."

"Why the hell do you want that?" Dean bursts, and Castiel shifts so that he can wriggle his elbow into Dean's ribs warningly. "Not much, really," Crowley answers. "Just a little bit of that, some more of that."

"Even a sliver of Grace can cause a lot of damage," Sam interjects, and Castiel knows he's thinking of the time they'd extracted the chunk of Grace Gadreel had left behind. "I'm stung," Crowley whines. "Do you not trust me, after all that we've been through?"

Castiel turns to exchange a look with Dean. Crowley is their best chance, but handing a powerful demon the most powerful weapon? That seems a big risk for a small cause. At least, thats what he thought him and Dean were silently agreeing.

Instead, Dean turns and tells Crowley firmly, "Deal." 

Sam and Castiel both react with protests, but Crowley is already gone. Rounding on Dean, Castiel snarls, "What the hell?"

Dean frowns. "You said he was our best shot, and its a fair trade," he defends. Sam runs a hand through his tangle of hair before yelling, "Thats like handing a nuke to Hitler on his birthday!"

Dean still doesn't seem to understand their anger. "We can just gank him if he starts trouble," he insists. Castiel is too tired to yell — or filter himself. "You shouldn't agree just because you need someone to help you hunt."

Something breaks in Dean's expression, and he opens his mouth, but the air stirs and Crowley announces coolly, "I found you someone."

Castiel turns around and finds himself nose to nose with an aged redheaded woman. She gives him a lopsided smile. "Yer a littl' sick, are ye, now?"

✡

"You brought a _witch,_ one that tried _killing_ us, to heal Cas?" Sam clarifies. They're sitting in the library, Crowley and the women across from Sam and Dean and Castiel. The proclaimed witch pouts at Sam. "Don' hold a grudge," she scolds. "I was defendin' me self."

Even Dean looks uncertain now. "How do we know she'll help?" he demands. "I mean, she _liquidized_ demons." Castiel feels his stomach flutter a little at the thought; a puddle of angel doesn't seem appealing.

"I promise ye that I'll help," she vows, smiling. "Think of it as a sort o' 'once-inna-lifetime' offer. Me forgivin' ye for killin' me lady friends." Castiel is growing more confused as the Winchesters grow less. 

"I want you in a trap," Dean says finally, pointing at Crowley. "So if she kills Cas, I can knife your ass." Crowley rolls his eyes and mumbles under his breath that Sam and Dean can't hear. Castiel hears it, however, and doesn't really appreciate it. But since they're saving (or killing) him, Castiel lets it slide.

"Fine," Crowley sighs dramatically. "Lets move this _back_ downstairs just to give the giraffe a papercut and bandaid." The sarcasm in his voice is almost visible, its so heavy.

"Glad we're on the same page," Dean snarls back.

✡

Castiel is too tense.

His fists are clenched and his muscles are tight and his eyes are squeezed shut as he sits down in the chair. He knows what to expect... or what he should expect. Will it kill him because its stolen Grace?

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" Dean's breath is warm against his ear, bringing Castiel back to reality. He nods vigorously. He doesn't dare open his eyes. Then, Dean murmurs, "What happened last time?"

Castiel frowns slightly; he'd recounted the story for Dean, and Sam, at least three times. Then he realizes what Dean means, and he shakes his head. "It was too fast. It was just this pulling, and it hurt, but he healed it. Then I was scared."

"Don't be scared," Dean encourages, and Castiel forces his body to relax. He holds his breath as the serated edge of the seraph blade brushes against his throat and holds there. "Rowena, do you have what you need?"

"Ready when you are," she answers.

The blade presses in.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the last chapter unless I get requests to do like an afterword or something. Thank you for reading! [Constructive] criticism is always appreciated.

Castiel wakes up and questions the century for the umpteenth time in a few weeks.

This time, though, he feels... _rested._

He parts his jaws in a yawn and stretches, covers slipping off to reveal that he is sporting an AC-DC shirt and Jimmy's boxers. He smiles at the shirt and gets out of bed.

Leaving the room, he unsteadily walks down the halls uncertainly until he eventually wanders into the library. Sam, whose pouring over an ancient looking book, gives him a double take and breaks into a wide grin.

"How do you feel?" he asks, standing to walk around the table. Castiel thinks for a moment. "I feel awake," he answers honestly, and Sam laughs before pulling him into a side-hug and ruffling his hair. "Thats great," Sam says.

Castiel wriggles free and regains his composure. "What happened?" he inquires, feeling goosebumps rise on his skin from the lack of clothes. Sam hesitates. "Well, you were in pain. Like, _serious_ pain. Dean panicked because he thought he had killed you."

Castiel smirks; that sounds about right. "Rowena did some spell and you started... well, it was scary," Sam says, looking uneasy as he recalls. "And then you suddenly stopped, and you were completely fine; just asleep."

Castiel rubs his head, trying to recall a memory that won't come. "How long did I sleep?"

"Its been about two weeks since t —"  
"Sammy, are you talking to yourself again?" 

Castiel and Sam turn around to see Dean shuffling into the room, hair sticking up oddly as he rubs his eyes. "'Cause I thought you dropped that in —"

He pauses, eyes running over Castiel several times, then to Sam, and back. After a long moment, he spits out, "You're awake." 

Castiel feels himself flush and his heart stutters in his chest at the smile that lights Dean's face. "I think I'm giving _Sleeping Beauty_ a run for her money," Castiel jokes, causing both brothers to laugh. 

Dean stares at Castiel for a moment, who doesn't know what to say, so they just stare. Sam clears his throat awkwardly and announces, "I have a, um. Thing," before turning and walking (fleeing) out of the room.

Castiel looks back at Dean, who raises his brow. "Well, ya gonna just stand there?" he asks, beckoning Castiel closer. "Let me get a good look at you."

Castiel, feeling somewhat self-concious, pads closer and stops a few feet away, remembering their conversations on 'personal space.' Dean, however, steps closer to place his arms on Castiel's shoulders and give him a searching look.

Then he gives a half grin and gives Castiel a tight hug. "Damn, its good to see you," he says into Castiel's shoulder. Castiel thinks of Purgatory and forces those memories away to hug Dean back. "Its good to be back," he says.

Dean releases him and claps him hard on the shoulder. "I say we go get you some of your own clothes," he decides, tugging the hem of Castiel's shirt that _absolutely_ does not make his cheeks flush more. "This is a good shirt."

✡

Sam insists that he has a _thing_ that he needs to do, so its just Dean and Castiel walking into Goodwill. Castiel tugs his borrowed jeans up for the sixth time and says instantly, "I want to invest in pants first."

Dean shakes his head, muttering something about Castiel's weird habits of speaking as he leads the new human towards the pants rack. "Well, you're obviously smaller in the waist than I am," Dean says, tugging the waistband of the loose jeans thoughtfully before going through the heap of pants.

He pulls out a pair and thrust them at Castiel. "Go try them on and see how they fit," he orders, grabbing Castiel's shoulders to spin him around and push him towards the fitting rooms. "I'll stand out here if you need anything."

Castiel shuts the door behind him and slides the jeans off without needing to unzip/unbutton them. He quickly tugs on the new pair and does them up before observing himself in the mirror. They seem to fit alright, except for the small gap at the waist.

"Dean?" he calls uncertainly. He hears Dean's voice, muffled through the door, and imagines him leaning close to cough, "Do you need a different size?" "I don't know," Castiel admits.

He hears the handle jiggle slightly and he automatically opens it. Dean's eyes flick downwards immediately and Castiel see him swallow before telling him, "Turn around so I can check the size."

Castiel obeys, looking up to see himself in the mirror and Dean standing behind him. He feels fingertips brush his lower back before Dean presses his chest against Castiel's back, lips almost touching Castiel's ear. "I can't see, could ya step forward a bit so I can get some light?"

Castiel shivers slightly at the dip in Dean's voice and steps forward, feeling Dean copy. The door closes behind them. "Lean forward a bit," Dean orders, and Castiel obeys once again. He feels fingertips dance across his lower back before tugging at the tag.

Castiel can't breathe, and his heart is pounding, and all he can concentrate on is Dean's _Goddamn fingers._ He releases a stuttered breath as Dean moves his hands to grip Castiel's hip and tug him closer.

"I think a size up should be good," he breathes into Castiel's ear, and he _can't take it anymore._

He grabs Dean's wrists and spins around to shove him against the door, moving his fists to clench Dean's flannel. He finds himself staring at Dean's lips as he feels the man's chest rise and fall quickly beneath him.

Dean, whether he's concious of it or not, slips his tongue out to moisturize his lips, and Castiel feels himself crumble; he tugs Dean forward and seals their mouths together. 

For a few seconds, Dean is still. Then, he grabs Castiel's arms and kisses back fiercely, nipping and sucking and licking. Castiel moves a hand from Dean's shirt to his head and grabs a fistful of hair; a gentle tug draws a small moan from the hunter. All of these emotions claw in Castiel's chest, and its too much and not enough at the same time.

The annoying need for air makes Castiel drop his head, but he smirks as Dean chases after. Panting, he lifts his head and thinks of apologizing, but the expression on Dean's face suggests that he will beat the shit outta Castiel if he does something like feel guilty.

Dean brushes his nose against Castiel's cheek, thumb dragging across his bottom lip. "Are you sure about this?" he whispers, and _hell fucking yes_ he is sure. He nods before conveying how sure he is with a searing kiss, teeth and tongue working to nip and lick Dean into a panting mess.

" _Cas,_ " Dean pants, breaking away to lean his head against the former angel's shoulder. "We are going to get you some pants and drive to some deserted place so that we can have steamy sex in the backseat."

Castiel would normally scold Dean for being crude, but all it does now is flow down his spine to his dick. Clenching his teeth, he nods. "Then we'll go to a bar," he adds. Dean cocks a brow. "What?"

"You said we would go to a 'shit bar' and get drunk off of 'shit beer'" Castiel quotes, using his fingers for air quotations. Dean smiles and shakes his head. "Yeah, I did say that," Dean murmurs.

He meets Castiel's eyes and then leans in for a quick kiss. "We can do that." He opens the door and hurries towards the pants, adding, "Right after the steamy sex."

Castiel has never heard a better plan.


End file.
